Carbon Monoxide
by WindStar
Summary: "Something had to give, and unfortunately…it was them. Sometimes, life just sucked, and they just couldn't keep doing it any more." Major Character death and reactions to it.


**Windstar: **Usually I don't like writing/reading death fics, but in all honest - I'm kind of tired of reading the end of a character that comes about because of a blaze of glory with a hale of bullets all around. Or better yet: an unsub torturing a character to death. This is also my explanation for Reid's headaches. Hope you all enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **I do not known, have never owned, and have no affiliation with Criminal Minds or it's franchise. This is a work of nonprofit and is meant as entertainment value only.

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><p><strong>Carbon Monoxide: <strong>_Characterized as an odorless, tasteless, invisible gas that bonds to the red blood cells (once inhaled) and prevents adequate transfer of oxygen to the brain. This gas is fatal if inhaled over an extended period of time. _

_**The 1994 movie, The Crow, once said: If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever." **_

Something had to give, and in hindsight, that something had to be them. Still, after all these years, it was hard to not think about how far they'd come, only to have everything fall apart around them.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Not that the alternatives were any better. This was simply just one blow too many as they stood once more in the graveyard that by now had seemed like a curse. The bodies of Emily Prentiss and Haley Hotchner lay next to each other in a show of unity and family. Now a third one joined it, and they weren't nearly prepared for this one.

It was the suddenness.

As brief as it was, the moment that Foyet entered Haley's home, they all knew that she was going to die. As little time as they'd had with Emily, there was always a faint trickle of doubt that told them that she wasn't going to make it through this. There was always the suspicion that they might lose.

There was no warning for Spencer Reid though. He just suddenly wasn't alive any more, and no one could understand why. They had wracked their brains over it for the past three days and yet still, they couldn't find the reason. There _had _to be a reason for this, and they just couldn't figure it out.

The last time they'd seen it, had been right after a particularly bad case. Nothing had ended well, and there had been several people killed for no reason upon completion. It felt like that time in Canada, where they all left feeling drained and exhausted and wishing that things had just gone a different way.

Reid had dragged his feet towards his desk, and crumpled into his chair. He'd placed his head in his hands and the team settled at their own areas with similar feelings of defeat. Morgan had looked at him, seen the pain and the frustration that was radiating through him, and he hoped, desperately he hoped, that they could catch a break.

He waited until everyone was out of earshot, and he'd gone to the kid's side. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he gently pulled his focus back to the exterior world. "You okay kid?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." His eyes were squinting too much, his face was too open, his body was too rigid. He wasn't fine by any stretch of the imagination. He was hurting, and Morgan could tell that this was a bad one.

When they'd talked about the headaches, he'd kept a close watch on the kid, just in case. He hadn't want to see anything bad happen again, and it seemed he was right to worry. They were only getting worse, and Reid's instance that everything was okay, wasn't flying any more.

The kid pushed himself to his feet and started towards the door. He looked like he'd been run over by a truck, but he smiled lightly and gave a wave before disappearing into the elevator. Morgan watched him go, his spirits at an all time low, and his mind just not understanding how any of this could happen to them.

The next day, he was served another blow. The kid didn't show up for work. He just didn't come. Hotch wouldn't admit it, but even he was worried. Everyone was. They didn't have a case, and so Morgan elected himself to go down to check on the kid. Hotch joined him, and in truth it seemed like he was crawling at the walls to get out of the office.

It was always like that after bad cases. Sometimes they just wanted to move on and not think about everything all the time. Seeing everyone together helped verify their own existence and need, and right now, Hotch needed that verification just as much as everyone else.

They arrived at his apartment with little trouble. They entered the building with little trouble. They arrived at the door with no idea what lay beyond, and they knocked. There wasn't any answer, but Reid was nothing if not vigilant. He'd given everyone spare keys in case they needed to come over for whatever reason. They'd teased him mercilessly about it in the past, but they were grateful for it now. It meant they could just walk in.

There weren't any signs of a struggle, and everything looked blessedly normal. Despite knowing that that probably wasn't likely (because really, how many home invasions can one team get?), they all let out a breath of relief at that. The coffee maker had ready made itself, but there was no sign that it had been drunk. The lights were all off, except for the hall light that led to his bedroom.

"Still afraid of the dark." Morgan couldn't help but snort as he glanced back to Hotch who just shook his head. Walking towards Reid's room, he rapped on the door. It really wasn't fair to the kid if they just barged in and he'd over slept. There wasn't an answer though, and so he pushed open the wooden structure, and peered inside to the sun lit room.

There was still a lamp on next to the bed, and there was Reid – comfortably sleeping the day away. Morgan sighed slightly as relief poured through him. He walked forwards, calling out the whole while. "Must be one hell of a dream, Pretty boy." He mumbled as he stood beside the kid. Hotch was hesitating in the doorway, seeing what Morgan should have seen before he'd gotten so close.

"Morgan…"

The younger agent wasn't listening though; he just reached a hand out and gently gave Reid's shoulder a shake. The boy genius didn't respond though, and he wouldn't. Morgan shook him a little harder, an unfamiliar feeling of panic overcoming him.

"Kid, hey kid, wake up." He shook him again, and again, but there was nothing. No response.

"Morgan…"

"The hell is wrong with you, come on. It's past twelve already."

"Morgan, he's not going to wake up." Hotch said the words so easily, that it took him a moment to register them. Looking up at his boss, he just blinked. Hotch's face was set with that mask he always wore whenever emotion was threatening to overcome him. It was blank, but stern, and yet the grieving he was already feeling was ever present in his gaze.

He walked forwards, and placed a hand on Reid's neck simply to confirm what he already knew. He was dead. It was the first time he'd ever seen death look so peaceful, but that's exactly what this was. The kid looked like he'd just slipped away in some dreamy fog that overcame him.

His face was already riddled with a death pallor, but Morgan had ignored it as he'd approached. _He'd always been pale_. He tried to make himself believe, but this was different. The kid wasn't breathing, and his heart had stopped. He was dead, and he was having a difficult time grasping that knowledge.

Because that really wasn't how it was supposed to go. He could imagine all sorts of alternatives. He could imagine a hale of bullets from an Unsub. He could imagine him doing something stupidly heroic and getting himself killed. He could imagine a car accident, hell, he could imagine a plane crash. He could imagine a hundred different ways that he would have picked instead of this, but none of that was what had happened.

Instead, SSA Dr. Spencer Reid, had slipped away while he was asleep in his own home. There was no attacker, there was no aggressor, it was just plain and stupid and _there_.

Morgan will remember for the rest of his life, what it was like standing at his best friend's bedside looking at his body. He will remember thinking that this couldn't be happening, and then looking for a reason why. When Hotch pulled away, he will remember what it was like to try to give CPR, but knowing it wouldn't do anything. Too much time had passed, and there was no way to resuscitate him.

He will remember the tears that came with the anger, and how he just wanted to smash everything. He will remember desperately looking his friend over for a needle mark, some form of injection site that will say this was premeditated. He will remember looking for something to blame.

What he won't remember is the fact that the heat was on and when everything was all said and done, that was what had ended the boy's life. He'd gone home, and laid down, and faulty heating had done what Tobias Hankel and countless others had failed to do. He'd died.

The doctors said that the carbon monoxide poisoning had probably been going on for a while. Morgan will remember the headaches then, and feel anger and hatred. How could the doctors be tossing up schizophrenia and not bother to check for something much more simple? What were they doing? Just taking the easy way out? He will remember what it was like to stand outside Reid's apartment building as more and more residents were checked on.

Twenty-five out of sixty-four people died that day. Months of a slow and steady leak of Carbon Monoxide from the heating system that ran through the building had finally destroyed the lives of all those people. The survivors were weak and confused and now in the light of day, Morgan could see all the signs so clearly.

But what he'll remember most is the feeling of complete and utter loss as he watched the careless men and women who came to collect the dead, simply pick up Reid's body, and place it in the black bag. "No wait." A part of his mind knew that it was stupid to say anything, that it didn't matter now, but an even greater part was filled with panic, and he just couldn't let this happen. "You can't close that."

"Sir?" The paramedics didn't seem to know what he was referring to, but he was adamant. Hotch was watching him with a frown on his face, but he wasn't interfering. The others were on their way at that point, and it was morbid to think that they were driving all the way down here just to see Reid's dead body.

"The dark, he doesn't, didn't, _doesn't_ like the dark. You can't close that. It'll be dark and-"

"Morgan…"

"Hotch, no man. You know it's true. You know-"

"Morgan, he's dead. It doesn't matter."

"It matters, don't you fucking say that. Don't you fucking say that, man; it matters. It matters a lot."

"Morgan…"

"Sir?" The paramedics were still trying to figure out what to do. Hotch waved them off.

"Just give us a few minutes." They nodded politely and stepped out of the room, leaving just Hotch and him…and Reid.

"They can't do it Hotch. They can't do that to him, you know what he's like."

"I know."

"So they can't just do that, and…God…they can't bury him, they can't."

"Morgan, he's gone…he won't care."

"But _I _care. I care for him, and I-" there were hurried footsteps, and both Agents looked up then to see Garcia rounding the corner with Rossi hastily calling her back. She wasn't listening though, she threw herself into the room, and suddenly there were tears everywhere, and she was throwing herself at the body bag, practically tearing Reid from it and sobbing hysterically the whole while. "Garcia, Garcia…"

Suddenly everything melted into focus; his own irrationality, his own terror and denial, it all became abundantly clear. Everything snapped together and he realized for the first time – this was real. This wasn't a joke. Reid was dead, and it was staying that way.

The famed FBI Agent who graduated from high-school at twelve, had three doctorates before he was twenty-four, savior of many, hero of some, friend and companion to all the members of the BAU team…killed by odorless tasteless gas. It was so pathetic, and Morgan wanted to punch something, but he couldn't do it.

He knew he wasn't the only one that was hurting though. All he had to do was look at the faces of those around him to see the pain and suffering on them. They were all breaking down. This was just one more blow that came too soon.

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><p>He didn't even know who it was that he should call. Which was another memory from this whole thing that was forever burned into his skull. Picking up that phone and calling Reid's paranoid schizophrenic mother, and telling her that her son died from CO poisoning.<p>

_"You're a liar! A liar! Put Spencer on the phone right now, this isn't funny!"_

"Ma'am…"

_"Liar! Liar! You killed my baby, you killed my son! Murderer! Murderer!"_

Playing the recorded message that Reid had had Garcia save for emergencies back when he'd contracted Anthrax…hadn't helped the situation.

_"You ran experiments on him! I know you did! Fascist torturing pigs!"_

She committed suicide by hanging two days later. She never went to her son's funeral.

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><p>The poachers arrived not too long after he died. When the first person came up, asking if it would be alright if they took Reid's brain and analyzed it for study, it took nearly all of the surrounding people to hold back Morgan from punching him across the face. Rossi looked like he might have settled for strangling the bastard, but it was Hotch whose hand had started to drift towards his gun.<p>

After the first one came, the second one tried to offer money. He actually went to the hospital with a broken nose. Garcia was in the bed right next to him, having broken her hand on the man when he'd approached to talk about possibilities. All four remaining members of the team surrounded her like a wall of danger, practically daring him to press assault charges on her.

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><p>JJ took the news hard. She spent the better part of four days crying her eyes out, hugging Henry to her chest while Will desperately tried to think up some way that he could cheer her up. He wasn't faring much better though, the past few years had seen a mutual friendship form between him and the boy genius.<p>

Reid was sorely lacking in friends outside of work, and JJ had gleefully done everything in her power to shove Will at him like a guiding force towards normalcy. The Las Vegas raised card player had spent many long hours playing various versions of poker with the New Orleans detective who wasn't too shabby at the art either.

Will was wonderfully tolerant of Reid's fast speech, and he was encouraging in all the right ways. Everyone was amazed at how easily Will accepted all of the Junior G-man's quirks. JJ explained later that Will had a cousin who was autistic, and that he had gotten well used to certain types of behavior. That, and LaMontagne was a closet Star-Trek fanatic. It was like walking into comic con whenever they were together, and the team had spent many evenings at JJ's home, watching in amazement as the two progressively spoke faster and faster about the most obscure facts of the show.

Henry was probably the worst, he didn't understand what was happening, and explaining to the boy that his Godfather was no longer alive was difficult. He kept asking when he'd see Reid again, and he kept saying that his "Ga-papa' was going to show him a new magic trick the next time he came over. His hopeful voice brought more then the fair share of tears to their eyes as they tried to explain he'd never see Spencer again.

He was insistent though, and nothing they said could keep him from believing that his Godfather was going to come back and visit him again. JJ was seen more often then not, looking at a picture that was taken of Reid and Henry at her son's baptism. Spencer wasn't looking at the camera, but he had a smile on his face as he looked down at the boy. He was practically glowing with love and it was the most family-like picture that she had of him.

There were others, when Henry was older. One in particular showed Henry dressed up for Halloween, settled on Reid's shoulders as he too was donned in a costume. They went together, as a two headed dragon, and with the face paint and clothes, they never looked happier. It now made JJ cry every time she saw it.

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><p>The funeral was horrifying. Trying to come up with the names of people who might want to attend was a list that was daunting, and by the time it had been publicized, people kept calling and asking if they could attend. It amazed the agents as to how many people had wanted to come to his funeral, how many former victims of past cases had given in and had requested to be a part of the service in some form or other.<p>

Nathan Harris in particular wanted to come. He hadn't had murderous fantasies for quite some time, and he had honestly and truly believed that he wouldn't have managed to live as long if it wasn't for Reid. There were other people who came, but Nathan stood out the most.

Gideon was someone that made an appearance for the funeral. He'd avoided Prentiss' funeral, but Reid had been his protégé, and he had come through to give his last respects. Hotch and Rossi had managed to stay at least somewhat civil to him, but Morgan couldn't contain himself.

"You weren't around when he needed you, and now that he's dead you think its time to show up and say goodbye?"

"I couldn't do the job anymore…"

"Reid wasn't your job, he was your friend, and you left him when he needed you."

"I needed time to think…"

"Four years is too long to think." Gideon winced, and Morgan left him to stand alone. Garcia stayed at his side, she said nothing.

Hotch had been named as proxy and will executor, and he handled the funeral with as much grace as he had with Haley's. Everyone knew that they needed to come up with something to say, but in truth, no one really was prepared for this day, and the shock was still so near to them that they couldn't quite rationalize what needed to be done.

Rossi had some insight into picking a passage from a work of literature that would be fitting. The words spoke what everyone was feeling, but from the stray eyes that kept turning to Gideon's direction, it was clear that they wondered if he should be the one speaking them, and not Rossi. No one brought it up though, instead they basked in the metaphor of Egil's _Loss of Son_ poem, as it radiated through the cemetery. He skipped some stanzas of the long poem, choosing only those that were relevant and would mean the most to the listeners, and for that – they were grateful.

"My tongue is sluggish for me to move, my poem's scales ponderous to raise. The god's prize is beyond my grasp, tough to drag out from my mind's haunts. Since heavy sobbing is the cause – how hard to pour forth from the mind's root the prize that Frigg's progeny found, borne of old from the world of giants. The sea-goddess has ruffled me, stripped me bare of my loved one: the ocean severed my family's bonds, the tight knot that ties me down. If by sword I might avenge that deed, the brewer of waves would meet his end; smite the wind's brother that dashes the bay, do battle against the sea-god's wife.

"Yet I felt I lacked the might to seek justice against the killer of ships, for it is clear to all eyes how an old man lacks helpers. The sea has robbed me of much, my kinsmen's deaths are harsh to tell, after the shield of my family retreated down the god's joyful road. Myself I know that in my son grew the makings of a worthy man, had that shield-tree reached manhood, then earned the claim of war's arms. Always he prized his father's words highest of all, though the world said otherwise. He shored me up, defended me, lent my strength the most support.

"It is also said that no one regains his son's worth without bearing another offspring that other men hold in esteem as his brother's match. I do not relish the company of men though each of them might live in peace with me. The lord of the sea, brewer of storms, seems to oppose me, his mind set. I cannot hold my head upright, the ground of my face, my thought's steed. Ever since the raging surf of heat snatched from the world that son of mine whom I knew to shun disgrace, [and] avoid words of ill repute.

"I was in league with the lord of spears, pledged myself loyal to believe in him, before he broke off friendship with me, the guardian of chariots, architect of victory. Now my course is tough: death, close sister of Odin's enemy, stands on the ness: with resolution and without remorse, I will gladly Await my own."

Egil's son had been swept away by the sea, and while their deaths had not been remotely similar, the meaning of the poem he'd read held true. For each one of the people who had known Spencer Reid, had in their minds a sense of anger and resentment. They all were filled with the desire to seek revenge, but against who? There was no one to blame, no person to be angry with.

The only one that could possibly be blamed is God, and that solved nothing. So there was simply this loss, this horrifying loss that filled them, and this sense of pain that never went away.

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><p>Strauss gave them another grief assessment, but this time, everyone was so low-spirited that they doubted that they did well on it. Even Hotchner couldn't flub his way out of this. It was just another shot far too close to the chest.<p>

Seaver, for all of her wonderful ways, had only been with them for a few months. Prentiss had been there for five years, and Reid for nearly ten. Their losses were things that couldn't ever be forgotten, and it had burned a hole inside of them. It had struck so fast and so hard, that they couldn't escape it. Her presence was wanted, yes, but it in no way filled the void.

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><p>Going through Reid's things had been hard. They'd had to sort through all the DVDs, books, games, box of magic ("So that's how he did it!"), clothes, letters, <em>everything. <em>His entire life was bared before them, and it was miserable and painful, and none of them knew what to say or how to grieve.

Henry inherited anything that Reid had shown him especially. Right now, the trunk filled with trick cards, hats, and books on sleight of hand; were all placed in his room in front of his bed. Everyone agreed that it was for the best, and that it was a part of Reid that he would have wanted Henry to have with him.

His books were split up between the team, as were all the photos that he'd collected over years of Garcia's paparazzi nature. It was mutely agreed that any photo that had someone in it, went to that person. Team photos were displayed at the office – a communal space.

When his official FBI portrait was displayed on the wall of fallen agents, nothing could stop the waterworks. Garcia burst into tears right there in the bullpen, and Morgan earned himself a suspension for punching a hole through a wall.

The day he was due to come back, Hotch's eyes were looking over the notice of resignation. He didn't need to ask, to know that Morgan had lost faith in the world. JJ was gone, Prentiss was dead, and Reid had been torn away from them by something as innocuous as carbon monoxide.

Not too long after that, Rossi agreed that perhaps it was time to move on, that he should settle down with his books and just live the good life.

Garcia was floored with the notification of Morgan's departure, and she soon begged to be terminated as well. Strauss wouldn't let her go though, at least, not until she had staged a coup and gave the woman a reason to let her go. She simply left, and didn't return to work. She went to Morgan's house, wept with him, and tried to grieve for their fallen friend who had never had a chance.

Standing in the empty bullpen, surrounded by empty chairs and broken lives, Hotch remained with Seaver. He could never tear himself from the job, because there was nothing out there for him left. He was tired, miserable, and just simply fed up with everything that had happened. He wanted to leave but he couldn't imagine any other life. He couldn't imagine doing anything else except for this job.

He checked up on them, from time to time. Rossi was busy writing another book, Garcia married Kevin, and Morgan was running a community building that he'd started from scratch.

He was busy teaching self defense lessons, organizing youth outreach groups, and encouraging kids to get off the streets and do right. From what Hotch could gather – he was making a difference in the city, and dozens of kids were changing their lives and looking forwards.

But that didn't mean anyone was ready to let go, they couldn't. Hotch grew used to the drunken phone calls from various team members who were suffering and hurting from the pain of the loss.

("Hotch…S'Reid's thirtieth birftday…man…gotta…celebrate…"

"Where are you, Morgan?"

"Apar…ment…" Hotch hung up and travelled to the by now, severely empty place. It was for sale, and vacant still, but none of them could bring themselves to let the place go. Hotch found Morgan sitting in the center of the room, a bottle of booze in his hands, and a sullen expression. He wasn't surprised to see Rossi and some scotch, or Garcia and a sad looking cake. He fought back his own emotions as he sat down with them all, and ate with them while they all got admittedly shit-faced and didn't think of the days to come.)

As the months passed and the agony started to become less severe, they did move on. Seaver stayed behind, working as hard as she could to become a valuable member of the team, and she received glowing encouragement from all of the people who helped train her.

Years drifted by, and the phone calls lessened. Rossi stopped by to teach classes every once and a while, and Hotch had him over occasionally and spoke with him during those evenings.

Cases interfered with any down time to see Morgan or Garcia, and JJ was only seen when their professional lives crossed.

It was sad, but it was life. Once they left the BAU, it was too difficult to see anyone and really spend time with them.

Something had to give, and unfortunately…it was them. Sometimes, life just sucked, and they just couldn't keep doing it any more.


End file.
